


Resurgence

by c9twizzler



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drug Addiction, F/M, Formerly Tranquil Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Abuse, Slow Burn, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22375429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c9twizzler/pseuds/c9twizzler
Summary: The Chantry made her mind silent, pinned her mind to the bottom of a lake so no one could hear her screaming - and the raw fade tore her chains away.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just really like the idea of an inquisitor who's tranquility is lifted by the anchor. also - the non-con/abuse are references to the abuse most tranquil experience in the circle. There won't be anything graphic in the story.

The first thing Gwyn felt was pain - crackling in her left palm, searing its way through the veins of her arms and setting her brain alight. There was a dull roar in the back of her ears, as if someone was screaming under layers of resin and cotton down, the sound rumbling through her and dancing behind the burning pits of her eyes. She thrashed, fingers scrabbling for purpose, but pinpoints of crushing weight grasped her limbs and crushed them to the cold ground, and she trembled until her blurry vision faded and she slipped away. It seemed a cruel cycle, these bouts of fiery agony and the welcome silence of sleep, as she woke and slept and woke and slept in her room of freezing stone.

When she woke for the last time, her eyes darted around, attempting to make sense of her surroundings. She was kneeling on icy stone, her wrists weighted down by rusted iron shackles and her head heavy with fatigue. A woman was talking, somewhere, her voice rough and disdainfully accusative, but her words slurred together into an unintelligible stream, drowned away by the sense of confusion-fear-pain that filled Gwyn. It was like waking from an unbearably long sleep, startled into consciousness by the force of a crushing river of melted snow. 

“What?” she said, tilting her head up to face the woman - the two women in front of her. They were clad in armor, tall and imposing, their eyes stony and faces drawn. The one closest to her, with short, dark hair and a scar bisecting her face, frowned, and started again.

“What are you?” she said, her palm resting atop the blade sheathed at her belt. “You bear the mark, but you have magic - it has been flaring for days, and you stepped out of the physical fade when we found you. Who sent you? Why did you create the breach?” 

“Where am I?” Gwyn asked, digging her nails into her trembling palms, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Who are you?” The woman scowled, shaking her head dismissively.

“You’re not the one asking questions here - what do you remember?” Gwyn closed her eyes, searching her memory.

“I… was running,” she said hesitantly. “I remember… a woman? She reached out to me, and then….” At this, the burrowing pain settled in her palm flared in a flash of crackling green energy, and she cried out, spine bending as she rode out the wave of discomfort. The fear was still running through her veins, overwhelming her senses and drowning out everything else. She noted, distantly, that she was crying - a steady stream of liquid dripping down her face, turning icy in the frigid air.

“A woman?” the other woman queried, her voice soft and lightly accented.  _ Orlesian _ , Gwyn’s fragmented memories supplied, though she didn’t know how that was supposed to help her. “Cassandra, could it have been the Divine?” The other woman - Cassandra - frowned.

“We found her in the center of the temple - it could have been. But whoever it was doesn’t matter - the elf says that she may be the only way we have of closing the breach.” Cassandra shook her head again.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.” Leliana nodded in assent, striding out of the dungeon, and Cassandra leaned down and unclasped the chains binding Gwyn to the ground.

“...What happened?” Gwyn asked, standing up shakily.

“It will be easier to show you,” Cassandra murmured, and pushed her up the rough, rock-hewn stairs.

As Gwyn stepped outside, her eyes widened. The wind was bitingly cold, pelting her skin with flurries of snowflakes, and the world was cast in a sickly, green-tinged glow. There was a hole in the sky, a swirling vortex of fade energy, and though Gwyn couldn’t remember much - who she was, why she was here - she knew that there was something very, very wrong with the sight.

“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra said. “A massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.” Gwyn frowned.

“The Conclave?” Cassandra cast her a sharp look, eyes searching.

“You truly remember nothing?” she said, skeptical, and Gwyn shrugged. The Breach thundered, and the energy in Gwyn’s hand flared once again, bringing the same burning pain she was becoming accustomed to.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads, and it is slowly killing you,” Cassandra told her, helping her up from the snow. “It could grow to swallow the whole world. The mark on your hand may be the only way of stopping this, but we don’t have much time.” She directed her to walk forward, leading her through a shabby town filled with impromptu tents. The people lining the pathways stopped to stare at Gwyn, their eyes filled with fear and disgust, and she flinched back from their regard, drawing into herself.

“They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace,” Cassandra told her. Gwyn sighed - the Conclave again. If only she knew what it had been, then maybe she would know why she was here - the last thing she remembered was the crackle of a roaring fire, the dusty tomes of the Circle and the feeling of warm, early-autumn sunlight. 

“Open the gate - we are heading into the valley,” Cassandra called out, leading her through the gates of Haven and into the icy mountain paths below. They made their way to a bridge, teeming with fully armored soldiers, when a jet of light streaked from the Breach and impacted with the ground, crumbling the bridge and throwing them to the ground below. As Gwyn struggled to her feet, her bones aching from the impact, demons streamed from the ground. 

“Stay behind me!” Cassandra shouted, drawing her sword, and Gwyn scrabbled backwards, her pulse racing. As she glanced back towards Cassandra, however, she saw one of the demons bearing down on her, having slipped past the woman’s guard. She grabbed the staff resting against the chest next to her, unthinking, and threw out a bolt of flame, and another, relaxing into the Circle-standard form she felt like she hadn’t used in ages. It was enough to fell the demon, fortunately, and she leaned on the staff in relief as Cassandra pulled her sword out of the last demon.

“Drop your weapon - now,” she said, raising her sword, and Gwyn immediately dropped it, the staff clattering to the ice below. Cassandra sighed at this.

“No - I cannot protect you. I should remember that you came willingly.” Gwyn picked up the staff again, her fingers curling around its comforting heft, and made to follow Cassandra when the woman turned around again.

“But it is true, then - you have magic,” she said, questioningly, and Gwyn frowned.

“Of course I have magic - I was raised in a Circle.” Cassandra gestured to her forehead at that, mouth drawn in a grim line.

“You bear the mark of a tranquil,” she told her, and Gwyn’s hands flew up, searching. Cassandra’s words were true - the skin there was raised, scarred from branding, and even against her palms, she knew that it was the same sunburst that had marred the forehead of the emotionless woman who had worked in the storeroom in her Circle. 

A sense of dread settled in the pit of her stomach. Her fuzzy memory - the constant feeling of too-much-too-,much-too-much, how she felt ancient and young at the same time - 

  
_ What happened to me? _ she asked herself, but she was afraid she already knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops - forgot that not all circles are in towers. fixed that jawn. i swear i know a lot about the lore, my brain just enjoys turning off while I'm writing


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> =

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woohoo a lot of this felt like I was literally transcribing the first hour of the game, but fortunately it's the last of that lol.
> 
> also, good god. I'm replaying the game right now (which is what spurred this fic), and I realized today that I've spent 10 hours in the hinterlands. I think this is what hell feels like: just running around the hinterlands endlessly, trying to convince yourself to progress the story even though the thought of leaving one quest unfinished fills you with fear. Add on the 20+ times I've gone to the black emporium because I decided I didn't like my inquisitor's nose, and it's a wonder all of thedas hasn't gone up in flames yet.

“The last thing I remember was being in the Circle,” Gwyn said, somewhat hysterically. “First Enchanter Lilian was teaching us warding spells. Not- not  _ this. _ ” She traced the mark with her fingertips, the rough, fire-marred skin feeding the sense of revulsion in her gut. Gwyn was struck with the sudden urge to curl up and take a nap right on the icy ground, and sleep until she woke up and everything made sense again.

“I understand that you are distressed,” Cassandra said, and if  _ that  _ wasn’t an understatement, “but we must keep moving. Every second we waste, the Breach grows larger.” Gwyn took a deep, shuddering breath, and steeled herself, paradoxically wishing for just a drop of tranquil calmness, and nodded.

“I understand,” she said. “Lead on.”

The path they took led them deeper into the valley. Demons seemed to spawn from the Breach in pulses, but their numbers were low enough that Gwyn didn’t find too much trouble taking them out, as unpracticed in combat as she was. She found that the mock spars held in the Circle didn’t quite compare to the absolute, rushing terror of true combat, even with Cassandra bearing the brunt of the aggression. Slowly, but steadily, they fought their way forward, until Gwyn found herself flinging fire at a shade in front of a green tear next to a group of fighters - with another mage with them, surprisingly.

_ This must be a rift _ , she thought, shuddering at the sickening, fade-green glow. Some of the mages in the Circle had delighted in the fade, at the wonders they saw in their dreams, but Gwyn had always found herself happiest pushing all thoughts of it as far from her mind as possible. She watched as Cassandra felled the last demon, its body crumbling into an ashy cloud of smoke, and started when someone grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand up.

“Quickly, before more come through!” The energy in her palm raced up to the tear in the veil, and Gwyn gritted her teeth as the pain flooded her arm. It grew, and grew, and just as she thought she’d be torn apart by the feeling, the rift gave one last crackle and burst, disappearing and leaving nothing behind. She gasped, staggering, and turned to the man standing next to her. He was an elf, tall and gangly - taller than any of the elves Gwyn had ever met - dressed in ragged, threadbare clothing.

“What did you do?” she asked, looking at her hand in awe. He rocked back on his heels, shoulders straight and hands clasped behind his back. 

“I did nothing. The credit is yours.” He smiled grimly. “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake - and it seems I was correct.”

“Meaning it could close the Breach,” Cassandra said, striding towards them. Solas inclined his head.

“Possibly. It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” Gwyn’s eyes widened. She was a second-rate mage who had never even undergone her harrowing - though she had an inkling of how that had gone for her - and now she was meant to close the massive tear in the sky? 

“And here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever,” the other man said. He was a dwarf - short, stocky, and surprisingly clean shaven.  _ These are the strangest people I’ve ever met _ , Gwyn thought.

“Varric Tethras,” he continued. “Rogue, storyteller, occasional unwelcome tagalong.” He winked at Cassandra, her face contorting as she made a vaguely disgusted noise. Gwyn twitched in an aborted attempt to curtsy, realizing that such manners were probably unnecessary on a battlefield, and flushed, settling for nodding jerkily.

“Gwyn,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.” Varric laughed at this, his voice hoarse and fatigued.

“He means he kept that mark from killing you while you slept.” Gwyn glanced at the elf in surprise.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I’m glad - well, I’m not glad to be here - but I… appreciate-” she frowned, tripping over her words. Her friends had always said that what she lacked in magical talent, she made up for in her talent to put her foot in her mouth. 

“My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage,” Solas said, blessedly moving past her inability to speak normally. “I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If is not closed, we are all doomed.” 

* * *

Their path forward was much the same, though the extra fighting hands were a welcome help in driving the demons back, and they soon reached the forward camp. Compared to the emptiness of the valley, it was filled with people, wounded soldiers lying on threadbare sheets and healers bustling around them. Gwyn could hear shouting in the distance, closer to the Breach, and the clash of steel against hardened demon-flesh, and she wondered what the Conclave had been, to bring so many people to these remote mountains.

The woman from before - Leliana - was standing at a table, next to a man clad in Chantry robes. “You made it,” she said, visibly relieved. “Chancellor Roderick, this is-”

The man cut her off, sneering at Gwyn. “I know who she is,” he said. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution.” Gwyn cast a startled look at Cassandra, who ignored her.

“Order me? You are a glorified clerk! A bureaucrat!” Rodrick tipped his chin up.

“And you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!” This back and forth continued for what felt an unbearably long time to Gwyn, when Rodrick suddenly sighed, his shoulders sagging.

“Call a retreat, Seeker,” he said. “Our position here is useless.” 

“We can stop this before it’s too late,” Cassandra replied. “We must get to the temple before it’s too late.” Done with the conversation, she gestured for Gwyn to follow her through the gates up ahead. Another rift hung low in the sky, weary soldiers grimly beating down wave after wave of demons. Gwyn slipped into her stance - it was instinctive now, after so much fighting - and cast a barrier over as many of the soldiers as she could. When the last of the demons fell, she steeled herself, and reached up, forcing the energy into her hand up into the rift until it burst. The soldiers gasped as it did, a mix of awe and relief washing over them.

“Lady Cassandra - you managed to close the rift. Well done.” A heavily armored man walked up to them, fur gathered in a mantle around his broad shoulders. Cassandra shook her head.

“Do not congratulate me, Commander,” she responded. This was the prisoner’s doing.” The man glanced at her, as if he were noticing her for the first time.

“Is it? I hope they’re right about you. We lost a lot of people getting you here.” His eyes were wary, shadowed by dark circles so deep it looked almost like they had been painted on. Strangely, it reminded Gwyn of the way the templars had looked at her back in the Circle - as if she were a bomb, ready to explode at any time. She shrank under his gaze, crossing her arms defensively.

“I’ve been able to close the rifts, but I won’t know until I get there,” she said. Better to keep expectations low, in case she failed miserably.

“We’ll see soon enough, won’t we?” he asked, turning to Cassandra. “The way to the temple is clear. Leliana will try to meet you there.” 

“Then we’d best move quickly,” Cassandra said. “Give us time, Commander.”

* * *

The temple was, to put it frankly, horrifying. The crumbled stone was littered with corpses, burnt beyond recognition, and the air smelled sickeningly of overcooked meat. It made Gwyn queasy and oddly hungry - when was the last time she’d eaten? - and she fought the urge to retch. When they reached the ground directly below the rift, a voice emanated from the Breach, echoing against the cavernous stone.

“Keep the sacrifice still,” a man said, and a woman begged for help.

“That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” Cassandra exclaimed, her face slack with shock.

“What is happening?” Another voice rang out, dull and unaffected. Gwyn shuddered - it was her, but not her. As if someone had bled her dry of everything and left nothing but her voice.

“You  _ were _ there!” Cassandra said. “Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?” Gwyn frowned, defensive.

“I told you, I don’t remember! I don’t remember anything that happened!”

“Echoes of what happened here,” Solas supplised. “The Fade bleeds into this place. This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.” 

“That means demons,” Cassandra said, drawing her sword. “Stand ready!” As the archers readied their bows and the soldiers took their places, Gwyn braced herself, and reached up to the rift and  _ pulled _ . 

And out came the biggest fucking demon she’d ever had the misfortune of seeing. The fight was brutal - wearing down the demon’s defenses took time, and by the end, many soldiers lay broken and bleeding in the rubble. When it fell for the last time, Gwyn was too exhausted to even feel relieved.

“Now!” Cassandra shouted. “Seal the rift!” 

Gwyn reached up, pushed with everything she had, and her vision went blew out with a shattering boom.


	3. Chapter 3

Gwyn woke up to the comforting weight of a thick, fur blanket, the gentle crackle of a hearthfire, and a pounding headache throbbing at her temples. She sat up slowly, her ribs creaking with the strain, and cast her eyes around the room: weathered wooden walls, cobblestone floor, old, time-worn furniture. Standard Fereldan fare, then. It was a far cry from the frigid prison she had woken up in before, which was a blessing; she didn’t think her bruised body could handle lying on hard stone for another night. She swung her legs over the side of the straw-filled mattress, preparing to stand up when the door opened. An elf burst in, arms laden with a dusty wooden box, which she promptly dropped.

“I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!” she exclaimed, eyes wide. Gwyn tilted her head to the side in consternation, fingers curled into the mattress.  _ That was a switch. _

“Don’t worry - I’m not upset,” she said reassuringly. “Where am I?” The elf dropped to her knees, bowing her head.

“I beg your forgiveness and blessing. I am but a humble servant. You are back in Haven, my lady; they say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about for three days.” Gwyn blinked in surprise.

“I’ve been out for three days?” she asked. The elf nodded, still kneeling. 

“They say you fainted after stopping the Breach, my lady. I’m sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve awakened. At once, she said.” The elf stood up hastily, fumbling for the doorknob. “In the Chantry with the Chancellor. At once, she said!” 

Gwyn sighed and stood up. “Time to face the music,” she murmured. Someone had changed her clothes as she’d slept; her tattered, battle-worn robes had been traded out for a pair of trousers and a baggy, badly fitting shirt. Her time… away had worn her down, in ways; she’d always been a stockier girl, sturdily built, but even looking at her hands, she could see the way her skin was drawn across each bone, stretched taut and sallow. 

Reluctantly, she pushed the door open and left the gentle warmth of the room, shivering as the full brunt of the icy wind hit her. The Breach was no longer swirling with energy, but it still hung heavy in the sky, marring the thick clouds. A murmuring crowd was gathered around the path leading away from the building, and when they saw her, they fell silent as one. “That’s her,” one woman said, in an awe-filled whisper. “The Herald of Andraste.”  _ What? _

“They say when she came out of the Fade, Andraste herself was watching over her.” Their eyes were fixed on her, and Gwyn felt uneasy at the attention. Shuddering, she began her trek to the Chantry, eyes fixed on the ground and expression carefully blank.  _ What happened while I was asleep? _ she wondered. These people had seen her as a mass murderer only days before.

Pushing open the doors of the Chantry was a relief; as they closed behind her, she sagged against them, exhaling deeply. The main room was completely empty, but she heard muffled voices coming from the back of the Chantry. As she walked through the door, Rodrick swept an arm at her imperiously.

“Chain her. I want her prepared to travel to the capital for trial.”

“Disregard that, and leave us,” Cassandra said. “The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.” She had a point.

“There were  _ demons _ pouring out of that thing,” Gwyn agreed. “And I almost died trying to close it.”

Rodrick scowled. “A convenient result, insofar as you’re concerned.” Gwyn’s eyes widened indignantly. 

“You can’t still believe that  _ I  _ was the one behind this all,” she exclaimed.

“Have a care, Chancellor,” Cassandra said. “The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect,” Leliana said. “Perhaps they died with the others - or have allies who yet live.” Rodrick’s scowl deepened.

“ _ I  _ am a suspect?” he asked incredulously.

“You, and many others,” Leliana replied, her voice cold. 

“But  _ not _ the prisoner.”

“I heard voices in the temple - the Divine called to her for help,” Cassandra said. 

“So her survival, that  _ thing _ on her hand - all a coincidence?”

“Providence,” Cassandra said firmly. “The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”  _ I wish he would have warned me first, _ Gwyn thought resentfully, and sighed. She had never counted herself among the extremely pious, but even then she couldn’t question the Maker’s will - if this even  _ was _ what he willed in the first place.

“Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide,” she murmured.

“We lost everything,” Cassandra said. “Then, out of nowhere… you came.” She turned away from the table, reaching for something on the shelf behind her.

“The Breach remains,” Leliana said. “And as we are, your mark is the only way we have of closing it.” Rodrick scoffed.

“And that is not for  _ you _ to decide,” he said, and jumped as Cassandra slammed a thick, ancient looking book on the table.

“You know what this is, Chancellor,” she said, her tone final. “A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval.” She stared the Chancellor down, her eyes flinty, and he threw up his arms in resignation, striding out of the room.

“This is the Divine’s directive,” Leliana said. “Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos.” She sighed, crossing her arms. “We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice: we must act now. With you at our side.” She turned to Gwyn at this. Gwyn wanted nothing more than to run, to cast this responsibility away and bury herself in books and studies and never fight again. But the mark on her hand said otherwise; in her mind, she remembered the dying soldiers in the camp and the burnt bodies that littered the shattered temple.

“I want to help,” she said, firm in at least this. “I’ll do anything I can.”

* * *

Gwyn was eventually left to wander Haven; Cassandra and Leliana had gathered the other advisors to begin their work, and had told her to rest and meet with them the next morning. She found herself hiding in a corner of the tavern, slouching over an empty mug of ale and staring at the wall with unfocused eyes. 

“Looking a little hazy there, Gwyn.” She jerked upright in surprise as Varric slid into the seat across from her, grinning roguishly. “I heard the Seeker’s starting up an Inquisition with you at the helm - did you know they’re calling you the Herald of Andraste now?” Gwyn sighed morosely.

“I wish I didn’t,” she admitted. “I’m all for obeying the Maker’s will, but I don’t think I’m cut out to be… heralding anyone.” Varric laughed, sliding her a fresh drink, which she took gratefully.

“I don’t blame you. Back when I was with Hawke, I would have given anything for weird shit to stop happening. I was about ready to settle down and retire with Bianca, maybe start gardening or herding sheep.” He patted the massive crossbow on his back fondly.

“Hawke?” Gwyn asked, curious. Varric’s eyes widened.

“You really don’t remember anything, do you? Hawke’s an old friend of mine - he’s pretty famous around these parts. He got up to all kinds of stuff back in Kirkwall - I even wrote a book about it.” Gwyn perked up.

“You’re a writer?” Maker, what she wouldn’t give to have her nose in a book at this moment. 

“I even like to think that I’m a good one,” Varric replied. “If you want, I could lend you a copy - might even help you get caught up on everything.” Gwyn beamed.

“I’d love that,” she said warmly. She liked Varric. For all that everyone here seemed to expect something from her, the dwarf was refreshingly normal. 

The inn was bustling with activity, now that the sun had dipped below the horizon. The frigid winds outside made it an ideal resting place, especially considering how much of the town’s population was set up in crowded tents. Gwyn, surprisingly, had been allocated a house - a small one, but the wooden walls and well-stocked fireplace were a godsend against the cold. She retired early - talking to Varric was one thing, but knowing that the other residents of Haven largely saw her as an Andrastian-icon made her glad to be away from their searching, expectant eyes.

She was eager to rest, even though she had apparently spent the last few days doing exactly that. She stepped into her cabin with a satisfied sigh, tossing a few logs into the hearth and relighting it with a spark of magic. There was an old, dusty mirror leaning against the wall, and she cleaned it with her sleeve, staring into it apprehensively. She hadn’t seen the mark, not truly - she’d traced the grooves it left in her skin, and imagined what it must look like on her face - but it was different to truly see it on her skin. It stood out in stark relief on her face, inflamed red against her pallid skin.  _ What did I do to earn this? _ she wondered. She had never been rebellious, not like some of the other mages - she did what the templars told her to, and never caused trouble. She had never been harrowed, but she was not one to invite the company of demons, either. 

She suddenly, desperately, wished that her memories would return. To know what she had done... her Circle was a gentle place. The atrocities she had heard of from Kirkwall, and Kinloch Hold had never happened in Ghislain - it had been a place of learning, and nurturing. The templars ruled with a strict hand, but Gwyn knew it was necessary - the Chantry spoke of the horrors magic could wreak upon innocents, and she would rather be struck down than become an abomination.

If she was made tranquil, then it could only mean that she had sinned. Perhaps consorted with demons, or blood magic, or used her powers to harm others. The thought filled her with terror. “What have I done?” she murmured, staring into the mirror. Her eyes looked so foreign: tired, dull, deep set into her skull. She had never been beautiful, but she had been pretty enough, with full cheeks and bright eyes and thick, curly chestnut-brown hair. The person that looked back was a stranger, one with muddy brown eyes and thin, lank hair, cheeks sunken and mouth drawn in a tight line.  _ Andraste, guide me to the truth, _ she prayed, closing her eyes and placing the mirror on the mantle. _ What purpose have you for me? _

In her dreams, she walked the Fade: through the woods outside her home, before she had been taken to the Circle. She sat by the crystalline lake, her toes dipping in the cool water as the warm summer breezes swept through her hair. Her body was young, limbs pudgy with baby fat, and she could hear her mother calling in the distance.

“Gwynhael,” she gasped, out of breath, “where did you run off to? Your father and I have been looking for you for hours.” Gwyn laughed, pushing herself up from the warm sand.

“I wanted to look for the swans, Mama,” she exclaimed, pointing at the white birds gliding across the water. “Nathalie said that if I threw bread to them, they might bring their babies with them to eat.” Her mom sighed, ruffling her hair with a firm palm.

“I’ll have none of that now,” she said sternly, taking Gwyn’s hand in her own and leading her back through the woods. “I didn’t spend hours cooking this meal for you to run off and play with birds.” Gwyn laughed, her voice high and clear - Mama scolded, often, but her voice was always amused and indulgent and she knew she was in no true trouble.

“Papa!” she exclaimed, dashing into her father’s arms with a mighty leap. “I missed you!” Papa chuckled, setting her down gently. “And I you, ma vie,” he said. “What have you been up to while I was gone?”

“Mama has been teaching me how to sew,” Gwyn said proudly. “She says that someday I can be a seamstress like her!” Gwyn wanted nothing more - her mother had met her father that way; she had travelled all the way to Orlais from Gwaren to purchase fabrics for a commission, and had met Papa when he had sought out someone to repair his torn trousers. If a job like that let Gwyn meet a man like her father - a brave, strong Chevalier - then she could be happy always. 

Papa smiled indulgently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I have no doubt, Gwyn,” he said, kneeling down so that he was at eye level, “that you can do anything you set your mind to.”

* * *

Gwyn woke up slowly, to the sound of voices outside her cabin and biting cold. The fire had gone out during the night, leaving only dimly glowing embers, and she sighed, dropping the fur blankets from her body as she dressed. A tray of food had been left on the table in the corner - bread, cheese, and cured meat - and she ate gratefully, her stomach gnawing in hunger. Cassandra had told her to come to the Chantry in the morning, and she hoped she hadn’t slept in. If she was to help lead this organization, then she hoped she could make a good impression while doing so. 

When she left the building, luckily, people seemed to take less notice of her. She kept her head down as she walked, her face hidden by a curtain of hair, and made it to the back room of the Chantry unmolested.

“Oh,” Leliana said, glancing up from the map she was bent over. The room was occupied, once again; Cassandra, the man from before - Cullen - and another women, dressed in rich silks. “You’re here. Good. Now we can begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im still in the hinterlands please help


End file.
